


under the facade

by icoulddothisallday, TetrodotoxinB



Series: cued to you [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crying, D/s AU, Dom!Bucky, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, Established Relationship, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rules, Spanking, Sub Drop, Subspace, Top Drop, War Era, forced outting, poor self-care, sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: After Azzano things aren't the same. Steve gives Bucky the run around and puts on a good show, but years of experience tell Bucky that Steve isn't handling things as well as he would like everyone to think. Finally, Bucky has had enough and brings Steve to task. Part of a greater D/s AU, but stand alone.





	under the facade

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on forced outting at the end, if that's a thing you need.

Bucky stumbled to the edge of the tree line and puked. He could smell smoke and burning bodies and blood in the air, and it sat at the back of his throat no matter how much he gagged and spat. Steve’s hand landed on his back, but it was all wrong — too big and warm and strong — and Bucky shook it off.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered, a hesitant edge to his voice, and he almost sounded like Bucky’s sweet boy. Bucky closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could that when he opened them he’d be waking from a nightmare in their tiny cold-water flat. He would wake up and Steve would curl into his side — a little softer, a little easier with the world dark around them.

“Sarge!” a familiar voice shouted. Bucky stood, wiping his mouth. Looking around, he spotted Dum Dum rapidly approaching. “Fuck, sarge. We all thought you were dead.”  

Dum Dum reached out with a hand, which Bucky took, giving it a quick squeeze and a shake. There was a black man a couple yards back, and behind him, Bucky could see a crowd of men gathering. The fighting had almost stopped, nothing but the roar of the fire to fill the empty space.

“Well, Captain America,” Dum Dum said, turning to Steve. “It’s your show. Where to next?”

 _Captain America,_ Bucky thought, looking back at Steve. Steve’s face had stilled — firm and quiet. It was an unfamiliar look and Bucky’s stomach turned. He thought he might be sick again. _Captain America. Captain America_ as in the guy on all the new posters and propaganda reels? _Captain America,_ the dom-nine comic book hero?

Steve couldn’t be Captain America. It wasn’t possible.

“We’re 30 miles behind the line, 35 miles out from camp,” Steve said, stepping around Bucky. Bucky bristled — that wasn’t how Steve was supposed to act and he knew it. “We need to move quick if we wanna be out of here by the time reinforcements arrive. Using the cover of night will be our best bet.”

But. This situation didn’t exactly fall under any of their rules, did it? So Bucky shut up and followed Steve. It seemed like the only thing he could do.

 

*

 

And it was fine until dawn started to break. Steve had been up and down the line of rescued soldiers all night, checking in with the injured, ensuring that those who needed it got transport on their liberated trucks and tanks. Bucky stayed by his side, checking in with his own men and going down his mental list of the soldiers who had been captured with him.

He found less of them than he would have liked.

His whole body ached. Cuts burned under his clothes. His vision was dizzy.

But he refused to stray from Steve’s side, even when Steve tried to convince him to take a rest for a while.

The longer they walked, the angrier Bucky got.

What on earth had Steve done to himself? What had he done to his body — the body that was Bucky’s to care for and protect? What the fuck was he doing on this side of the Atlantic? He was supposed to be home, _safe_ , getting put down twice weekly by their friend Harry, down in the corner flat.

Who’d been putting Steve down? Not anyone Bucky cleared, that’s for damn sure. And the longer he watched Steve, the more convinced he was that Steve _hadn’t_ been down in entirely too long. As the sun began to filter through the trees, Bucky could make out Steve’s pale face, the deep bags under his eyes, the way his hands trembled a little when no one was watching.

His boy was dropping, hard and fast.

And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. All the propaganda said that Captain America was the strongest of dominants, with a DCI of dom-nine, so clearly no one fucking knew that Steve Rogers was a sub-nine, and who knew what would happen if anyone found out?

Bucky might be pissed as all hell at Steve, but he wasn’t going to rat him out. Not yet, at least, not until he knew exactly what had happened, exactly what his boy had done to himself. But God, it fucking sucked, to walk beside his sub and watch him suffer.

Bucky had missed him so goddamn much. Missed the way his Stevie went under, fighting hard against his headspace until he just... wasn’t. Missed the sounds he made when Bucky brought his hand down as hard as he dared on Steve’s tiny handful of an ass. Missed the soft way Steve would lean against Bucky’s knees and let him feed him, the only time Steve stopped and relaxed enough to let himself be gentle.

And now it seemed like that Steve might be gone, and it was like losing a part of himself, like he’s suddenly walking around without his arm, unable to do the most basic tasks.

 

*

 

By the time they made it back to the camp, Bucky’s skin was itching with how angry he was. Half of it, he recognized, was his own desperate need to go up. He wanted to punch anyone that got within a foot of Steve.

He was pretty sure that dame — Carter or whatever — was a domme. He could see her helping Steve. _Touching_ Steve. Nobody got to touch Steve except for him for fuck’s sake.

And then Bucky had to stand back and watch Steve get whisked off to their CO’s tent, while Bucky stayed. Steve looked back once and Bucky caught the flash of panic in Steve’s expression.

Good, at least Steve knew he was in trouble.

But they didn’t get to talk about it. That night, they all got shipped back to London. Steve checked in at every point, but they weren’t _together_ and Bucky didn’t get to put him down. He _needed_ to put his boy down because his skin itched and restless energy sparked along every nerve.

After a couple square meals, Bucky’s cuts had healed. And even though he still hadn’t put Steve down, he felt better than he had in a long, long time, but he didn’t think about that. He didn’t want to think about any of it.

As they traveled through France, Bucky kept himself busy, helping out wherever he could and avoiding medical altogether. There were enough seriously hurt and injured men that no one was exactly chasing him down, and with Steve off with the brass there was no one but Dum Dum to nag him about it. Ignoring Dum Dum was a helluva lot easier than ignoring Steve.

Getting back to his regular duties helped with his riled up state, but by the time they reached London he was in need of a proper up. Unfortunately, Steve still showed no sign of getting anywhere close to Bucky for an extended period of time, at least not alone.

Pretending that didn’t hurt like a gut shot, Bucky reluctantly dragged himself to the Dynamic Services HQ to see a Comfort Sub. Like always, it was only half satisfying and left him feeling shitty and missing Steve. Somehow it hurt a hell of a lot more to miss Steve knowing that he was in the same goddamn country.

When he did see Steve again, Steve was settled. Someone had put him down.

Bucky left the building and punched a wall until his knuckles bled.

 

*

 

Two weeks later found them crossing the border from Austria into Hungary. The SSR wasn’t testing them on the big Hydra bases yet, instead sending them out to chase down other leads. Bucky was mostly glad to be back in the field, snow and ice and c-rations aside. Bouncing around London had given him entirely too much time to think and brood and get more and more pissed at Steve.

Fucking stubborn son of a bitch. Mentally, Bucky whispered an apology to Sarah Rogers, even though he knew she’d agree about her son. Stubbornest asshole Bucky’d ever known.

“There’s a river about two miles east,” Falsworth declared as he stared at the map with Dum Dum.

“Alright, we’ll camp there,” Steve decided. As pissed as Bucky was at Steve, he clearly had what it took to lead. The other men respected him, and Bucky was glad to see that much as least. He’d always wanted more people to really _see_ Steve. So there Bucky was, tromping through two feet of snow on the side of a mountain after spending yet another day doing recon with Steve’s team.

Bucky shouldered his pack and rifle again, falling in a few paces back from Steve. He didn’t like being pissed at Steve. He’d never been good at it, not even when Steve deserved it. But Steve had been pushing his buttons since they first started this whole endeavor. Going off and enlisting so he could sign up for medical experiments had broken no fewer than three of their rules, probably more.

On top of that, Steve had refused to talk to him about it. His sub knew he was in some serious trouble and he’d been avoiding Bucky outright. When he did check in or get close, it was always with witnesses, where he knew Bucky couldn’t afford to say or do anything out right.

And as much as Bucky hated to admit it, because he _wasn’t_ one of those asshole doms who thought they didn’t have to listen to subs, it was fucking hard to take orders from Steve. It felt unnatural and weird and Bucky hated that it felt that way. It made him feel petty and backwards. It was just that their dynamic was so firmly entrenched in him that Bucky had forgotten what it was like to _not_ be in charge of Steve.

As if all of that wasn’t enough to be dealing with, Bucky had to constantly watch Steve push himself to the point of breaking. But at least in London there were people to take care of that. It stung that it wasn’t him and Bucky kind of hated Carter, but at least Steve wasn’t hitting dangerous points of drop. But once they got out in the field, that wasn’t the case.

Adrenaline had run high all day, but now that they were hiking in the early twilight and below freezing temperatures, it was gone. Bucky felt more edgy and irritable than usual, partly that had come from being on the Front too long topped off by  being turned into a lab rat, and the rest came from the adrenaline crash. Mostly, though, Bucky being a riled up mess came from watching Steve who had clearly dropped hard about fifteen minutes earlier. But Steve was marching on, back straight and stride purposeful, but all the grace of his new body was gone.

He wanted to pull Steve aside, give him an order that would hold him over until they got to where they planned to make camp so he could put him down right, but he knew that couldn’t happen. Bucky had seen the propaganda in London at the SSR offices: “Captain Steven G. Rogers, AKA Captain America, is the pinnacle of male perfection with a DCI of DOM-NINE!!!” And to everyone around them, that was who he was, who Steve had to be — the perfect dom, not some sub-nine that would drop to his knees for his dom at a moment’s notice, ready and needing to go down nearly every day. The Army wouldn’t be able to get him home fast enough if that came out.

Instead, Bucky was relegated to watching Steve break their rules again and again with every step towards camp, like Bucky didn’t suffer right along with him.

 

*

 

“You ain’t looking so good there, Cap,” Gabe observed while they crowded around the small fire that they chanced.

Steve shook his head, the motion a little uncoordinated. “I’m fine,” he answered.

Bucky saw the way that the others looked at each other, concerned and confused but ultimately unable to flat out argue with a superior officer. The urge to dress down Steve right there was so strong that Bucky shovelled the rest of his C-rations into his mouth despite the taste, threw the empty container in the fire, and left without a word.

Telling Steve how to manage his drop wasn’t his business anymore, Steve had made that clear. So he rolled out his sleeping bag, pried off his boots, and climbed inside. He barely had time to get settled before the sound of approaching footsteps had him grabbing his side arm and quietly sliding out of his bag and out of the back of the tent.

“Hey, Sarge,” Falsworth called. “Dum Dum says he thinks there’s something wrong with Cap. We figured you know him best so maybe you could help.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and set his pistol down long enough to put his boots back on. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Thanks, Sarge,” Falsworth said as he escaped Bucky’s obvious fury.

The fire was a few hundred yards upstream of their encampment and located under a little copse of trees — a miracle this close to the treeline — that concealed the light from the fire. They usually liked to set up camp around the fire, especially on cold nights like this. But while the trees hid their fire, they would do little to protect them from attacks in the night.   

Bucky’s spine tingled, but he stayed focused, pausing at the edge of the clearing. Steve was leaning against a tree, eyes closed. His whole body was shaking. Bucky could see the sheen on his brow from where he was. Fever, then, Bucky diagnosed dully.

Gabe and Dernier cleared out as Bucky arrived, leaving only Dum Dum, Falsworth, and Morita. Morita was by Steve’s side, clearly trying to take his pulse, but Steve was having none of it.

And that did it for Bucky. That was one of their most important rules and he’d taught Steve that lesson again and again. Steve didn’t get to ignore what doctors told him to do. There was no excuse for it, not in Bucky’s book.

Fuck keeping Steve’s dynamic a secret. The team needed to know. What if something happened to Bucky and Steve dropped? It just wasn’t sustainable to keep this secret. If the team could know about Steve’s goddamn serum, there was no reason they couldn’t know he was a sub.

Bucky knew Steve would hate them knowing because he was stupidly ashamed of his dynamic, even though he was the most amazing sub. But Bucky didn’t a give damn one way or the other about Cap’s public image or about what anyone else on their team might think of Steve’s DCI. He didn’t _care_ if Steve felt embarrassed. Seeing Steve blanched as pale as death with a light sweat on his brow only cemented his opinion on the matter of personal secrecy.

“You’re a colossal idiot Steve,” Bucky observed.

“I’m fine,” Steve shot back, anger and shame like lightning in his words. So that’s where they were, Bucky thought. Steve thought he should somehow be better than fucking drop.

“Right, because you’re the very picture of health at the moment,” countered Bucky.

“Bucky, I’ve dealt with this a hundred times before without you or anyone else. I’m not gonna die and I’ll be better by morning.” Fuck, Bucky though. Steve had ignored drop this bad? Goddamnit.

Bucky laughed, the sound discordant and jagged like broken glass. “Better? You mean like you always are? Halfway into a drop at any given moment? What happens when you’re not better in the morning, when you put everyone in danger? You gonna be fine then?”

Steve’s face went even paler, two spots of color rising on his cheeks. Bucky couldn’t see in the dark, but he’d bet his last pair of socks that Steve’s ears were red as a ripe tomato. Off to the side someone hissed, _fuck._ Bucky couldn’t care less. As far as he was concerned, they needed to know.

Steve stood up — shaking, pale, and pissed. “That’s enough, Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

“Oh, we’re going with that now? Sergeant? Alright, fine. You want me gone? Then, _make me leave._ ”

Steve took two shaky steps forward and then stumbled, barely catching himself before he fell all the way to the ground. Bucky’s stomach flipped with concern, but he let his anger cover it. Steve didn’t need a soft, worried Bucky right now. They were way past that.

“You’re useless right now. If the enemy were to walk into camp right this second, you’d fold and we’d be left trying to defend you. You could get us killed with your stubbornness,” Bucky snarled. Steve stared back, but said nothing. “Tell me I’m wrong,” Bucky demanded.

Silence filled the clearing, but Steve didn’t answer and he didn’t drop his gaze.

“Am I wrong?” Bucky asked again, his voice all mettle.

Finally, Steve’s eyes dropped from Bucky’s by a fraction of an inch, though his head didn’t move — the first show of submissiveness. “No,” he answered quietly.

“Head to camp and set a watch,” Bucky ordered, motioning to the others without taking his eyes off Steve.

Around them the men stood to leave, gathering their things and Bucky heard Dum Dum call out, “Pay up boys.”

“Goddammit,” Falsworth cursed. “That was my last pack of fags.”

Bucky could hear Dum Dum claiming his winnings from Morita. Somehow it didn’t surprise Bucky that the team had been discussing Steve’s dynamic. His sub really wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was, couldn’t be — not when you lived on top of each other like they did.

Steve’s head ducked, shoulders tensing. Now he was well and truly pissed.

“You don’t have the right to tell them that — it could get out, I could get a fucking blue ticket.”

“I don’t have the right?” Bucky asked, voice deadly quiet. Steve went still. “I don’t have the right?”

Bucky took a deep breath, staring his sub down. Goddamn, how had things gotten so screwed up? How did they get so fucking far from who they are to each other? God, there used to be nothing in the world that came between them. They trusted each other to the ends of the earth and back, and or all Steve’s stubbornness and pride, he always trusted that Bucky was going to take care of him. Or at least he had trusted Bucky.

“Steve, what are we?” he asked, keeping his voice still.

“What?” Steve asked, looking up to meet Bucky’s eyes. There was something cautious in his gaze — uneasy and worried. Bucky had rarely ever seen that exact look in Steve’s eyes. Every time it was because he thought Bucky was finally giving up on him.

Like Bucky could give up on this stupid punk if he tried.

“What are we? Who am I to you?”

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before looking back down. “You’re my dom, and I’m your sub.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice sharp. “You haven’t much been acting like my sub. So this is your chance, Steve. If we’re done, I need you to tell me now. I’m not doing this as a courtesy to a superior officer, you’re either in or you’re out. Dum Dum’s a good guy, he’d put you down right, and I have no problem going to get him,” Bucky said. He had every problem thinking about having to go get Dum Dum to put down _his_ sub, but there was possessive and then there was being an asshole. It was one of the few lines he felt like he had left to cross after this goddamn war and he wasn’t eager to do it.

Steve hesitated, and Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach. “I would never give that up,” Steve finally whispered. His voice wavered. “Fuck, Bucky. I would _never._ ”

Bucky let the knowledge that Steve was his — really still his, even after everything, even after Carter — settle into his bones and the tension in his neck ease up. Feeling his focus begin to narrow already, Bucky ordered, “Drop.”

Steve collapsed gracelessly to his knees, the serum not having changed the way he went pliant just for Bucky. His landing was cushioned in the snow, a soft crunch instead of the usual thud of his bony knees against bare floorboards. If Bucky were sentimental he might miss that sign of their relationship, but after everything, he was simply grateful for the small mercies of life that had brought Steve back to him.

Steve closed his eyes, body tilting ever so slightly toward Bucky. Bucky stepped closer and studied Steve’s face which was painted a red-gold in the firelight. Fuck, there was so much that was broken and bent. So much had changed. He didn’t know where to start.

The soft crunch of snow on the riverbank and the quiet hum of voices, muted by the crisp mountain air, let Bucky know that the others were still within earshot so he took the moment to settle himself and think. Steve had broken more rules than he could count and was in the middle of bad drop, one entirely of his own making. Bucky knew he needed a punishment and he knew that Steve needed to go down hard. The quickest way to a safe drop was sex, but even as riled up as he was Bucky didn’t want to. Too much had happened, too much needed to be hashed out, and it wasn’t something either of them could do in their current states. They’d just have to settle for something else.  

For half a second Bucky entertained the idea of skipping the punishment altogether. He was tired — they both were — and even as angry as he was the last thing he wanted was to hurt Steve. There was already so much pain in the world right now. Bucky longed for the soft, quiet moments of home — their shared baths, feeding Steve their precious Sunday meal bite by bite, the silky touch of Steve’s hair between his fingers.

But Bucky knew as soon as he thought it, that putting Steve down easy would do more harm than good in the long run. Steve not only expected a punishment, he needed it. Bucky could see it in the arc of Steve’s neck, the weight of his head, the way he pressed his fingers into the side of his legs as he waited. As extensive as Bucky’s laundry list of Steve’s misdeeds, he knew that the tally Steve kept in his own head was longer. Steve’s unease and self-loathing would only grow if a punishment was denied him — Bucky had learned that the hard way.

Decided on the proper course of action, Bucky unbuckled his belt and began to pull it free. He watched a shiver, different from the trembles that had wracked his frame moments before, run down Steve’s spine, and he remembered how Steve always had responded to the sound of Bucky taking his belt off.

“It’s the sound,” Steve had admitted once. “It reminds me who’s in control and helps me focus, blocks out everything else.” Bucky had waited to ask until Steve was loopy and fuzzy around the edges from a down knowing that he’d never answer truthfully otherwise.

Setting aside that memory, Bucky doubled the belt over and grasped the ends in his right palm, wrapping it around his hand once. He tested it against his thigh, a rough snap against the thick cloth of his fatigues. Steve flinched at the sound and Bucky felt sick. He’d done enough hurting on there on the Front, and here, in this space outside of their world of war, Bucky felt like it was unfair to ask it of him again.

He pushed down the bitterness. Steve needed this from him. They’d both feel better when it was over and done with — they always did.

“Tell me why you’re being punished,” Bucky asked.

Steve licked his lips and took a deep steadying breath. “I enlisted against your direct order for me not to, ignoring the rule that your word is final. I participated in an experimental medical program, ignoring the rule that I know you never would have given me permission to do it in the first place.” Steve’s words were steady and Bucky flinched, knowing that Steve had been rehearsing them in his head for weeks, if not months. Bucky should have stopped all this weeks ago, as soon as he possibly could have. It wasn’t just Steve who’d fucked up. Steve continued with, “I’ve picked a lot of fights and I blocked a lot of punches with my face.” Steve attempted a smile, but Bucky couldn’t return it. That face was the only thing in Steve he still recognized — his voice and his face.

Steve swallowed, smile falling off his face and anxiety returning. “I’ve neglected my need to go down, and dropped regularly for months now. I rarely eat enough to meet the needs of my new body, even when I have the rations,” Steve recited. It sounded like a litany, something they said in mass, a worn prayer that they had practiced over and over until they knew it by heart, and Bucky knew that Steve had done just that, berating himself day after day, counting his sins and waiting for atonement.

Listening to Steve, Bucky felt his anger subside. He watched Steve breathe, watched him lay down those burdens at Bucky’s feet, and saw how his shoulders slumped, how the rigidity of his posture gave way to exhaustion and defeat. He didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than who he was when he was with Bucky, and to Bucky it felt like Steve was giving him absolution for his own sins in the war.

They still belonged to each other, even after everything.

“How many licks do you think you deserve?” Bucky asked.

Steve looked up at Bucky, face drawn. “I broke at least seven rules, you usually give me twenty for each, but that doesn’t account for how many times I broke each rule. I — ”

Bucky cut him off. He couldn’t stand to hear Steve say he deserved a hundred and forty licks just for starters. He couldn’t stand it. “Fifty is enough for tonight. Argue with me and you’ll get none,” Bucky countered, mentally counting back Steve’s admissions, wondering where the seventh rule was broken in there.

Honestly, fifty seemed like a helluva lot, but Steve was clearly angling to get Bucky to strap him until he was raw. But, supposed healing factor or no, any more than fifty would be reckless. If Steve couldn’t stand or walk afterwards he’d be just as useless as he already was. Bucky wanted to strike a balance that would work, but Steve with his magic serum and giant body was uncharted territory.

“Yes, Bucky,” Steve answered, his face already turned down again.

The thought of making Steve strip for this was appealing. Bucky wouldn’t join him — it was too cold — but Steve could stand there freezing his balls off for added punishment and humiliation. But tempting though that may be, it was stupid. They needed to be ready for anything and Steve naked in the snow was not a good strategy. Maybe when they got back to London after this mission Bucky could take him to their hotel room and order him to strip. Bucky could finish the punishment still in his dress uniform. Bucky couldn’t pretend that idea didn’t appeal deeply to the part of him that was still bitter about taking orders from Steve.

Bucky considered. In the past, he’d always leaned Steve over the end of their bed, or propped him up on some pillows. Steve’s back and knees hadn’t been able to take anything more demanding than that. And while Bucky wanted to be able to do this exactly the same, to bring them back to who they’d always been, it wasn’t possible in the here and now. Surveying his extremely limited options, Bucky settled on Steve pulling his pants down to his knees and bending over to grab his ankles.

Once he was sure that Steve’s balls were tucked safely forward and out of the flight path of the belt, Bucky swung. The belt snapped loudly against Steve’s skin and a stark white line flushed red after a moment. Steve grunted, but he didn’t move.

“Count ‘em,” Bucky instructed.

Some nights Bucky liked to keep Steve waiting, surprise with every hit, but with fifty on the menu, he set a rhythm. The strikes rang clear, but muted, by the damp winter air — cold but wet from the fallen snow and nearby river. Bucky hoped that it might be enough to give Steve some privacy from the camp, but he doubted it. The night was quiet enough that they’d know what Bucky had done, all they had to worry about now was the fall out tomorrow.

“Twenty-two,” Steve grunted out.

He didn’t sound anywhere close to his limit yet, and Bucky wondered if he had misjudged Steve’s new body. Steve, or at least Steve back in Brooklyn, would fight any and every punishment until his body gave up for him and he cried against his will. It was hardly a surprise that Steve who’d seen war would do the same, and to a much greater degree.

Steve’s ass and the backs of his legs down to his knees were a dark red. The flinches and trembles that had set up residence since somewhere around fifteen let Bucky know that Steve was still affected, regardless of how stoic he was.

Without someone to add sticks to the fire, it burned low very quickly. They’d kept it small to begin with, just enough to provide light and a hint of warmth, so with everyone else gone it as just embers when Steve counted forty. The red glow from the fire made the welts that rose on Steve’s skin look almost bloody, and Bucky had to blink away the images that crowded in from the things he never wanted to remember.

But red or no, Steve was still quiet. Bucky raired back and let the belt come down harder than the had yet, turning it so that it crossed multiple welts at once. Steve shouted and came up on his toes, no time to settle before Bucky brought the belt down again. He sped up, breaking the rhythm he’d set and Steve’s grip on control with it. Unless he wanted to change the punishment, extend it beyond his initial promise, he needed to take Steve down hard and fast in nine more swings.

Bucky’s arm was warm and his shoulder burned, threatening to be sore tomorrow, but he needed Steve’s hard outer shell to split, he needed to find the soft, tender sub underneath the facade.

“Fuck,” Steve swore on the next one. And then, “Bucky. Fuck. I’m —” Bucky didn’t let him finish, coming down hard once more.

“Count them,” he reminded in a harsh tone.

“Forty-three,” Steve gasped. His voice was starting to shake.

 _Forty-four_ and Steve’s shoulders trembled.

 _Forty-five_ and Steve almost tumbled head first into the snow.

 _Forty-six_ and Bucky thought, cry damnit. Steve, just let go. Please.

 _Forty-seven_ and a muffled sob hit the air.

 _Forty-eight_ and Steve’s muscles went slack.

 _Forty-nine_ and Steve’s whole body shook with the force of his silent sobs.

 _Fifty_ and Bucky tossed his belt on the ground, hauling Steve up and around, tucking him close.

It was different. Bucky couldn’t tuck Steve under his chin anymore. Steve’s shoulders were broader than Bucky’s. But somehow it still worked. Steve hid his face in Bucky’s neck, wetting them both with his tears. He was still completely silent and Bucky knew that he was just as aware as Bucky was that their team was still in earshot. But this wasn’t actually that different from home — keeping as much secret and quiet as they could manage.

Bucky reached down and around, pulling Steve’s pants up. Steve hissed as the fabric dragged over his welts. Bucky would have to duck down and get Morita’s med kit in a bit, just to make sure their Captain was in tip top shape.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered as his tears ran out. “God Bucky, I’m so sorry. I was such a fuck up, I messed everything up, I’m so sorry —”

“Enough,” Bucky said firmly. “No more apologies. It’s done, it’s fine. I messed up, too. I shouldn’t have waited so long to talk to you. And I’m sorry for that. And now we’ve both apologized and we’re good, okay? Everything’s good.”

Bucky rubbed the back of Steve’s neck, feeling the strong chorded muscle there. Steve’s breath hitched, making an old instinctual part of Bucky freeze with worry. He told it to be quiet — Steve was breathing just fine.

He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. _Fuck._ They didn’t have to worry about that anymore. A weight lifted off his shoulders, sudden and unexpected, and a little excitement managed to drop into his belly. Fuck, there were all sorts of things they’d wanted to try but couldn’t because of Steve’s breathing.

“My collar —” Steve sobbed, and Bucky’s attention returned immediately to his boy. “My collar. Doesn’t fit.”

Bucky’s heart stuttered a little, even as he ran a soothing hand down Steve’ back. They’d saved for over a month to get Steve that collar, cheap and simple as it was. It’d easily been one of their most prized possessions. Putting it on Steve when he came in the door was one of the routines that gave Bucky the most peace.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed. “It’s just a piece of leather.”

“I didn’t — I don’t — “ Steve stuttered. His arms tightened around Bucky.

“Breathe,” Bucky reminded.

“I still want to be your sub,” Steve managed and Bucky clutched him a little tighter. “I just didn’t know — everything is different. M’supposed to be — I wasn’t sure.”

“Stevie. Hey, it’s okay. You’re still my sub, still my good boy, aren’t you?” Steve released a breath at the words _good boy_ , tension starting to leave his frame. God, how was it that the best man Bucky knew doubted himself so much? Needed to be reminded that he was good? “I love you,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s good ear, not that it mattered anymore.

“I love you, too,” Steve affirmed. “So much, Bucky. So, so much.”

“I know,” Bucky said softly, letting his lips press into the side of Steve’s head, a hidden kiss, just in case they were being watched. “I know. We’re going to figure this out, we will. We’ve gotten through hard times before and we’ll get through these.”

Steve nodded into his shoulder, and Bucky could tell he was well and truly down, now, in a soft, familiar headspace. Bucky would like to let him linger there, but it wasn’t safe in enemy territory, not even deep into the mountains, and they were still going to have to deal with the team. They should probably negotiate some rules for the field, as a lot of rules from home just wouldn’t apply. There was still a watch to set and they had to make sure the fire was fully out. Nevermind that Steve still had to put up his pup tent.

Still, a few more minutes couldn’t hurt. Who knew when they’d get a chance for a few more minutes again. Bucky closed his eyes, breathed in Steve, who somehow smelled just the same. He let himself get used to the new weight and shape of Steve in his arms. He let himself breathe and stop and stay still, just for a minute.

Just one more minute.

 

*

 

They got up just before the dawn when it was cold as fuck and the sky was a deep, warm blue between the trees. The ground had never done Bucky any favors when it came to sleep, but even with the bruise on his right hip from the rock he was too tired to move, he was still more well rested than he’d been in weeks, maybe months. Because, despite everything else, he had Steve to curl around through the night. Through the night also meant he missed his watch and he didn’t know who took it, but he thought he knew why. Watching someone you care about drop as hard as Steve did could be scary, but when you depended on that person, when that person stood between you and death on a daily basis, it was worse. They had let Bucky sleep to let Steve sleep, simple as that.

But Morita was going around and kicking feet and throwing snowballs to rouse their merry band of gentlemen so they crawled out of their bedrolls and threw on their boots. Steve, for all he should have been stiff and sore and aching from the beating, the cold, and the hard ground, was as graceful and as lithe as ever. Bucky still cracked and popped while he took down their tent, marvelling at the unfairness of it all.

Breakfast was a quick affair — more c-rations eaten cold once everything else had been packed away.

“You not gonna sit for your breakfast, Rogers? Sounded like he gave you quite the thrashing last night,” Dum Dum remarked blithely.

Steve turned beet red and straightened up in a flash, but Dum Dum was already smiling and shaking his head. “You know we don’t care. I’ve known since you walked us out of Azzano, you can’t cover up a lifetime of tells that quick.”

Whatever dressing down Steve had prepared died on his tongue and his mouth clicked shut.

“Yeah, Cap. None of us care if you’re a sub. You’re a damn good leader and you’ve got our asses out of the fire more than once. Just maybe let Sarge put you down more often is all, we don’t want you getting hurt,” Gabe said.

Bucky let out a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. There was no other shoe waiting to drop. Steve was a sub and that was that. No blue ticket home for Steve, though Bucky didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

But Steve didn’t look relieved, he looked anxious and sick with a touch of that self-loathing that he seemed to dabble in from time to time. Bucky sighed. Steve could be the most recalcitrant person at times, and that, mixed with low self-worth, really made for some heavy stuff that Steve, even in his body and new position would have to work through.

“Just tell them,” Bucky said quietly. “Once you get it out and over with, you won’t have to worry anymore. They’ll figure it out eventually anyway. Dum Dum’s too observant to miss it.”

The whole camp was silent and Bucky realized too late that they heard not all of it but enough.

“I’m sub-nine,” Steve said clearly, as if challenging them to have an opinion about it.

“My dad’s a sub-eight,” Falsworth said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, sure,” Gabe added. “I got twin cousins, both sub-nine.”

“I guess we better keep Barnes in good health, then, huh?” Dum Dum joked as he shoveled the last of his c-rations into his mouth.

Bucky chuckled, and then the moment was gone. People threw their ration boxes in a pile and then they were covered with snow, hidden away until the spring melt by which time they would have been long gone from this camp. Steve looked like he was caught with his pants down, but got ready to move out all the same. Bucky had known it would be a while before Steve didn’t feel like this knowledge would be lorded over him, but Bucky wasn’t worried. He couldn’t have said how he knew, he just did — none of the Howlies would ever use Steve’s dynamic against him.

The immediacy of last night, the stolen minutes that Bucky had thought might be few and far between, suddenly felt more possible. Time, as much as Steve would need to get used to the way things had ended up, seemed to Bucky to finally be on their side.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky reveals that Steve is a sub to the Howling Commandoes without his permission. 
> 
> [icoulddthisallday](https://icoulddthisallday.tumblr.com) on tumblr.  
> [TetrodotxinB](http://tetrodotoxinb.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


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